


Sherlock/John drabbles

by cedarrapidsgirl



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-29
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-11 00:00:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/472161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cedarrapidsgirl/pseuds/cedarrapidsgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a collection of drabbles for me to work on for writing challenges...  based on the lj comm sherlock100 prompts table, but not really connected to that comm otherwise. 10 drabbles to a chapter, 100 in total. All John and Sherlock based, some may be more explicit than others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1-10

**Author's Note:**

> Using the prompt chart from the lj comm sherlock100, I'm writing 100 word Johnlock drabbles to work on my writing and such. The ratings will probably change, and there's spoilers from both seasons, and mentions of suicidal thoughts. If you have any comments, questions, requests, etc, let me know in the comments below. Thanks! ~crgirl

**1\. Beginnings**  
The first thing he does is use my phone. Then proceeds to tell me an extraordinary amount about myself from just that briefest of exchanges, such a small experience. Looking back now, that’s when I first started to fall head over heels for Sherlock Holmes.

You’d have thought I’d injured my head and not my shoulder, going headlong into a trusting friendship, (Not a relationship yet, then, dammit) with someone I barely knew. Of course, the heart does things to the head that no one can understand.

One thing I sure can’t say now is “Nothing ever happens to me.”

 **2\. Middles**  
After so many times of Sherlock giving Mycroft a hard time about his diet, John finally had to ask. “Why do you always bother your brother about his weight? It looks like he has it well under control to me.”

Sherlock looked up from his experiment. “Before puberty, Mycroft was.. a little overweight. More so around his stomach and such, but you get the idea.” That was enough of the family history Sherlock wanted to reveal, and went back to work.

John shook his head. He knew as long as he lived, he’d never fully understand either of the Holmes.

 **3\. Ends**  
No. No. No. This is not the way it was supposed to go. At all. This is not the end. I’m sitting alone, and helpless, vulnerable, and I don’t understand any of it. I know you’re not a fake, and I don’t believe you when you said you were a lie. I won’t believe it. I just won’t.

Why did I tell you not to be dead. That’s silly. Maybe I’ve cracked. But you don’t really feel gone. The bond we still have, tells me you’re alive. Somehow. I really don’t like this, Sherlock, not at all. Please come back.

 **4\. Insides**  
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “You’re a doctor, John. I didn’t think you’d be that squeamish.”

John tried not to look at the table. “Sherlock, there are intestines on the table. That is.. just.. ugh.”

Sherlock said nothing but went back to his dissecting. After a couple of minutes, he spoke, glancing just slightly at John. “At least these are just the inside of a pig. Since you outlawed the human version..” Sherlock sighed a long suffering sigh, like he was the one who had to live with his flatmate’s experiments on the table.

John straightened sharply. “Damn straight I did.”

 **5\. Outsides**  
It was a bright spring day, and John had drug Sherlock out. They were sitting outside, enjoying the weather. John was happy, Sherlock wasn’t. Still dressed in black, coat and scarf, sulking.

"Sherlock. It’s a beautiful day. How could you not want to spend it outside?” John asked. Sherlock wrinkled his nose in disgust, but said nothing.

John made sure he was close to Sherlock, so only he could hear what was said next. “For all the time you spend outside today, I’ll make it up to you for the same amount of time later. In. Our. Bed.”

Sherlock smiled.

 **6\. Hours**  
It had only been 5 hours since he met Sherlock Holmes, and he was going to meet him tomorrow night to look at a flat with him.

John looked around the sparse room he currently lived in. Well, it couldn’t get much worse. He thought about the gun in the desk drawer and how often he had it in his hands the last couple weeks, how close he’d come to- well, he couldn’t worry about that now, could he? He had a chance at a better life, now. He sure hoped it was better..

It had to be. Right? Right.

 **7\. Days ******  
Not that it was bad music, but John Watson had had enough. After putting the pillow over his head (again) and sighing (also again) he angrily marched downstairs. “Enough, Sherlock. That is enough!” He yelled and Sherlock (finally!) stopped playing the violin.

“What is it, John?” As he raised the bow, John raised his voice again.

“Oh no you don’t! You’ve been playing that thing for a day and a half straight! I need some sleep!”

Sherlock looked like he was going to argue, but a hard kiss from John made Sherlock lay down his instrument and follow John upstairs.

 **8\. Weeks**  
Two weeks. John had been gone for two weeks. “Harry is in hospital, in a very bad way”, John said, worried as he packed a suitcase. “You know I have to go to her, Sherlock. Family’s all we got in the end.” That sounded familiar, but he really wasn’t sure that applied to him and Mycroft. Not really. Maybe. He didn’t know.

He knew he needed John, now more than ever. He missed him terribly, and texted him relentlessly. John was patient with him, as always.

Sherlock heard a cab slow, stop, then a door slam. John. JOHN! His John.

 **9\. Months**  
4 months after Sherlock’s death, most of London had forgotten about John Watson. If John thought he was in a bit of trouble mentally before Sherlock, after Sherlock was a whole different matter entirely. He was still in Baker Street. Probably should have moved on but couldn’t. He really just couldn’t.

And every time there was a moment of the darkest, so dark and deep that John swore he’d never find his way out, but then, a shake of his soul, and the moment would pass. John would stare at the gun, gaping, and lay it back in the drawer.

 **10\. Years**  
3 years. over a thousand days. (Yes, Sherlock, I know it’s 1,095 days, you genius, thanks for that..) John didn’t know where the years went. He just got up, kept on breathing, eating, working, living, breathing. And the days turned to weeks, then months, then one day John stopped and realized it’d been 3 years since the day Sherlock died.

John slowly tread up the stairs to the flat. So lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the landing door open and a man in a long coat waiting for him.

Who caught him before he hit the floor.


	2. Sherlock/John drabbles 11-20

**11\. Red**  
John Watson has seen a lot of red in his life. He associated red with blood. As a doctor, soldier, colleague of Sherlock’s, there’d been a lot of blood. His blood, Sherlock’s, some punk who seemed to find a need to fight either one or both of them.

There were rivers of red blood in John’s nightmares. From soldiers he couldn’t save. It was Sherlock who comforted John after those nights. But after the fall from Bart’s, the blood he dreamt of was Sherlock’s, and John laid there alone, crying, clutching a pillow that didn’t replace the man at all.

1 **12\. Orange**  
It was early in the morning, and Sherlock sat up on the roof, watching the sunrise. John was snuggled against Sherlock’s side, trying not to fall asleep. Sherlock poked John with his elbow just as the sun was rising, a myriad of different shades of orange coming over the horizon.

John sighed sleepily. “Is there a good reason you drug me out of bed at this ungodly hour here to the roof? If you say this was for a case, I swear I’ll push you off ” 

Sherlock smiled. “No, no case. Just because I can. Just for you and me.”

 **13\. Yellow**  
John came home from the shop to find Sherlock at the table, involved in some experiment. That was normal. What was not normal was a small bouquet of dandelions in a glass in the middle of the table. “Never thought you much for flowers.” Sherlock looked up at John, then reached out to the bright yellow flowers, contemplating.

“Everyone thought they were weeds. I always seen them as something more. I always thought they were beautiful, in some unusual way.” Sherlock came back to the present. “I always was an unusual child.” John smiled as Sherlock went back to work.

 **14\. Green**  
“You don’t look so well,” Sherlock said as John made as his way back from the bathroom to bed, clutching his stomach.

“Brilliant deduction, _Doctor_.” John managed to get out before turning and going back to the bathroom, the nausea hitting again.

Sherlock followed behind John closely, not the least bit phased by John’s vomiting. “You do know, you should probably eat something.. Vomiting green bile can not taste good.”

John looked up from his position on the floor, _Oh God this was going to be a long week_ , he thought, _if this is what Sherlock used as bedside manner_.

 **15\. Blue**  
Sherlock was digging through John’s closet when he found it. Up on a top shelf, folded neatly. At first he didn’t think it was the same scarf, but when he opened it and laid it out, he could still make out the faint outline of a blood spot that must have been missed during cleaning.

Sherlock fingered the scarf, lost in memories. He felt eyes on him and looked up. John was watching him carefully. Sherlock looked at the scarf, and was overcome with guilt over causing John anguish. But it was all worth it. For John was safe now.

 **16\. Purple**  
John smirked over his coffee. “You have cuts on your face.”

“Hmm..” was the only reply from Sherlock, as he pretended to read the paper again.

“And I’m surprised you’re upright at all, considering you took quite a wallop from The Woman yesterday.” John remarked.

No reply, just the rustle of the paper again. John smiled. “You left a bruise, too you know. On me. When you punched me.”

That got the detective’s attention. He snapped the paper down and focused in on John’s face. Sure enough, there was a purple bruise just barely visible.

Sherlock spoke. “I’m sorry, John.”

 **17\. Brown**  
John just could not stop laughing. Okay, so right now it was giggling, but that was because Sherlock was shooting daggers into his back as they slowly made their way up the stairs to 221B.

“John..” It was just one word, a warning, but John couldn’t help laughing aloud again as they made their way inside, and he pushed Sherlock towards the bathroom.

“Go, clothes and all. In the shower.” Sherlock scowled as fiercely as he could while looking ridiculous covered head to toe in brown muck.

“You should have seen your face.. when you fell in the pig pen..”

 **18\. Black**  
After the fall, Sherlock had to hide. He managed to make his own funeral, which was surreal. But then it was back to hiding. When Sherlock could sleep, he dreamt. And it was always of John, of the look on his face, the betrayal as Sherlock lied to him outright. Sherlock knew he had to do it to save John, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson. As much he rationalized it in daylight, in the night, in dreams, there was the guilt. In every dream he fell off the roof into the black, and hearing John pleading and crying over his body.

 **19\. White**  
John was smiling and studying Sherlock intently. Sherlock didn’t want to be distracted and huffed at John over his microscope. “What, may I ask, is so interesting?”

John snickered. “I was just trying to imagine you with a tan.” Sherlock rolled his eyes.” Which, is damn near impossible, by the way. You’re always as white as a sheet.”

Sherlock kept his eyes on his work as he spoke. “I am genetically disposed to my pale skin, John. I do not tan.”

John came up behind Sherlock and whispered, “You may not tan, but I can know you can be flush.” 

**20\. Colorless**  
After their latest case, John and Sherlock sat at home, coming down off the adrenaline rush. Sherlock pulls something out of his suit coat pocket, and the glint of it catches John’s eye.

“What is that? That’s not some kind of pill, is it, because I swear-”

Sherlock puts his hand up to silence John, while showing the contents of his other hand. “No, John. Just a little something I got on this case, part of our payment.”

John picked it up carefully and about swallowed his tongue. It was a diamond, and it was a very expensive colorless gem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, "Red" is my favorite of this set of drabbles so far.


	3. 21-30

**21\. Friends**  
John sighed and rolled over in the strange bed. He was alone in Dartmoor, with Sherlock on a case, after a hound of some sort, sleep would be fleeting for the detective. What Sherlock had said earlier, about not having plural friends, just one, was nagging him. How was he supposed to bear the weight of being Sherlock’s only real friend? Sherlock couldn’t put that pressure on him. Selfish git.

Deep down John knew he was kidding himself. He would follow Sherlock Holmes to the end of the damn Earth and back. Maybe someday they could be more than friends.

**22\. Enemies**  
Sherlock wasn’t exaggerating when he told John that Mycroft was his arch enemy. Okay, well maybe he was a little. But he wouldn’t admit that to anyone. (He barely admitted it to himself.) But John was wrong about people not having arch enemies. Sherlock probably did have one. He just didn’t know who it was just yet. But he could feel it. It was coming, sometime in his life. Some things, he just knew. Even if he couldn’t voice them outright.

Some things were better left unsaid. It wouldn’t do to have a Consulting Detective that can supposedly sense things.

**23\. Lovers**  
John laid in their bed in 221b. It was late morning, but he really didn’t have any motivation to get up and get the day going. Not when Sherlock was sleeping peacefully beside him, his pale skin a contrast to John’s tan complexion. John knew that Sherlock needed rest, especially after last night’s events, but he couldn’t help touching Sherlock’s neck and the bruises that stood out. John had his own marks, and was proud of them. There was no denying now, that Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were a couple, and that was just fine. It was all fine.

**24\. Family**  
John Watson had a headache. Why he thought it would be a good idea to have his sister, Sherlock’s brother, and Sherlock and himself in the same flat at the same time for more than perhaps five minutes, he had no idea. It had been three hours when John finally snapped, with both the Holmes’ deducting Harry, and she was whining back at them, like she did to John when they were kids. “Enough!” John shouted and stood up, and it got very quiet. Breaking the silence, Mycroft got the message. “Miss Watson, may I offer you a ride home?”

**25\. Strangers**  
He didn’t like people as a general rule. They were too emotional, needy, and stupid. Sherlock scowled and tucked himself deeper into his coat as he sat on the park bench, observing. The weather and the night matched his mood, dark. John had been shouting about some inane thing when Sherlock stormed out. He looked at the strangers, and didn’t want to deduce them either. Like a bolt of lightning Sherlock sat up straight. He didn’t want to be alone. He wanted John. His emotional, needy and decidedly not stupid John. Sherlock stood, wrapped his coat tight, and headed home.

**26\. Teammates**  
The door opening rather loudly and the creaking up the steps meant John was finally home. Of course, the incessant giggling that came up the stairs first meant that a _drunk_ John was finally home. Sherlock scowled as John stumbled through the door, almost tripping over his own feet as he tried (and failed) to hang up his coat. Sherlock looked up from his experiment and deadpanned. “I take it you had a good time out at the pub with your old rugby mates?” John grinned. “I sure did, love. You should come with next time.” Sherlock sighed.

**27\. Parents**  
“Well, that went pretty well, don’t you think?” Sherlock rolled his eyes but gave a small smile as John started the rental car. “My mother loves you, John. I knew she would. Anyone who could tame her ‘wild child’ in the way you supposedly did, she will adore.” John smiled too as he negotiated his way down the drive of the Holmes estate. “Yeah, Sherlock. Those naked baby pictures just proved your total ‘wild child’ ways. Although I did hear some stories, Sherlock while you were off with your father.” Sherlock tried to look angry, but failed as John laughed.

**28\. Children**  
Another sunny day and John had drug Sherlock outside to the park to “get some fresh air”, as he put it. Sherlock didn’t mind as much as he let on, he liked making John happy. They watched the people silently when Sherlock suddenly spoke. “You’ve always wanted children, haven’t you John.” It was more of a statement than a question. John stuttered at this sudden conversation, but tried to keep up. “Well, yes.” He paused. “I know you don’t, however, so I’ve made my peace with that long ago.” Sherlock pursed his lips in thought, and held John’s hand tight.

**29\. Birth**  
“Did you have a good day at work, dear?” Sherlock asked sarcastically as John came in the flat. “Actually, yes I did, for your information. I got to deliver a baby today.” Sherlock watched as John’s face lit up, lost in the memory. “You should have seen him, Sherlock, so small and yet so strong. It’s good to see life start for a change, instead of always seeing it end, like is per usual for us.” John continued on up to their room to change clothes. Sherlock said nothing, but even he could observe the paternal nature of John Watson.

**30\. Death**  
Sherlock was glad he really wasn’t dead. Okay, so legally he was dead, and he sure felt dead to some. (John) But death was so final. And Sherlock Holmes was not dead. Yet. He had to protect those that cared for him, and were in grave danger themselves. Lestrade. Mrs. Hudson. And John. Oh, John. In his grief, did he know what danger he was in? He should suspect something, he was close to Sherlock. That puts him at risk. As Sherlock stood in the shadows of the cemetery, he saw John grieving. “I will protect you, John.” he thought.


	4. 31-40

**31\. Sunrise**  
It was the first sunrise after The Fall, and the first full day of being “dead”. Sherlock hadn’t slept, but watched the sun rise over the trees. It was a beautiful area, but now it would always be tied to a memory. The beginning of a horrible, trying time. It surely wouldn’t be the last of the early mornings he would see as he began the process to fully take down Moriarty. Sherlock gathered his meager belongings and squared his shoulders. No more time to reflect now, it was time to get this plan underway. Then back to John. Onward.

**32\. Sunset**  
How many days had it been? John didn’t know and didn’t care. It was end of another long day, one more day without Sherlock. He needed to move on. He had to. John sat in his chair in the living room and watched the sunset. Tomorrow he would start moving on. But for now he just sat. Reflecting and staring, until the sun finally disappeared and the moon was high in the night sky. Alone may protect you, Sherlock, but it’s not doing anything for me, John thought. He should get up, but right now he didn’t care. At all. 

**33\. Too much**  
“Oh, John, too mrph..” Sherlock’s last word was muffled as he was currently giving John a magnificent love bite on his neck, right where it wouldn’t be coverable in August. John tried to keep himself upright against the wall Sherlock had pinned him up against as soon as he got home. “Saywha?” He managed to get out. “Too much clothes, John. Far too much, Sherlock replied as he backed off and took John back to the bedroom. And I intend to remedy that very soon.” John smiled. “Really, Sherlock, you’ll get no argument from me. None at all.” Sherlock smiled.  
 **34\. Not enough**  
“Jawn… it’s not enough! Not enough friction! Help me pleeeease…” John was bright red with embarrassment as he drug a very handsy and drugged detective away from the crime scene. How Sherlock always got into these situations he had no idea. Thankfully a black car of Mycroft’s pulled up and whisked them back to Baker Street. It was a long ride for John as Sherlock tried his best to relieve some of the symptoms of the drug by rubbing himself on John. It was going to be a long day indeed, John thought as the car arrived at their home. 

**35\. Sixth sense**  
“I know you get tired of hearing, it, but I still find your deduction skills, when appropriate, to be amazing. Sometimes it’s like you have a sixth sense for things.” John hung up his coat after making it home from the last case. “Sixth sense is not very scientific, John.” He hung up his own coat and then flopped down on the sofa. “Sometimes a sixth sense is good to have,” John stated, going to make tea. “It helps me know when you’re in trouble.” Sherlock said nothing, filing John’s remarks in his mind palace. It could come in handy. 

**36\. Smell**  
Living with Sherlock Holmes meant dealing with lots of weird smells, whether from the fridge or whatever random experiment was boiling. But there were good smells, too, and one of John’s favorites was the smell of sweat and cologne and whatever that indescribable smell that was Sherlock after a good hard shag. He probably didn’t smell like roses either, but he knew Sherlock didn’t mind either. It was usually with the smell of John that lulled Sherlock to sleep, whether or not they had sex. For some reason, the reassuring smell of John meant safe to an overactive detective’s brain. 

**37\. Sound**  
“What’s that? I can’t hear you. Oh, you’ll go and get the milk for a change? How _lovely_ of you, Sherlock.” John smiled as he made tea. Sherlock was silent for change, but it wasn’t by choice. A severe bout of laryngitis left him and his deductions quiet. Even while making no noise, John knew cranky even when he didn’t hear it. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t kid. Here’s your tea. I put some honey in it this time, to soothe your throat.” Sherlock took the tea and nodded his thanks, taking a sip and wincing at the pain. 

**38\. Touch**  
Now it was John’s turn, Sherlock thought as he looked at the lump of covers in their bed. The cold Sherlock had went to John and he was feverish and sick. Sherlock touched John’s forehead which was burning up. He’d only taken some medicine about ten minutes prior, so he right now he just needed time. John opened his eyes at Sherlock’s cool hand, and shivered as he burrowed under the covers again. Sherlock wasn’t sure what to do, so he crawled under the covers as carefully as he could and snuggled up next to John. They both fell asleep. 

**39\. Taste**  
“Ugh, Sherlock, you’ve been smoking again. I can taste it.” They were having a good snog session and John turned away from him. “Mmmm..sorry” Sherlock said, not sounding sorry at all. “I know you don’t like it. But it’s been hard lately..” Sherlock trailed off, working on moving his mouth down John’s body.. “Oh no you don’t.” John hauled Sherlock up to meet him, and then John was the one moving down to his knees in front of his lover. “I have to get this taste out of my mouth somehow.” Sherlock smiled. He wasn’t complaining in the least. 

**40\. Sight**  
Sherlock came out of the bedroom. John stared at him as he made his way to the kitchen, still not awake from a rare jag of sleeping. “What?” Sherlock snapped. “Nothing, just looking at you.” John said from the table, putting down the paper. “It’s hard for me sometimes, I just want to keep you in my sight as much as I can, I spent three years thinking you were dead, and now you’re here…” Sherlock silently went behind John and wrapped his arms around him, resting his head on John. “I’m so sorry. I’m here now, and for always.” 


End file.
